


bloodlust

by plantyourtreeswithme



Series: je ne sais quoi? [4]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Gaston (Disney) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-02 08:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11505678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantyourtreeswithme/pseuds/plantyourtreeswithme
Summary: War brews in France - and in Gaston.





	bloodlust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tanisbarca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanisbarca/gifts).



> For [@intheblackestday](http://intheblackestday.tumblr.com) for the [GaFou Secret Santa challenge](http://barduil.tumblr.com/post/160951891683/gafou-2017-gift-exchange-aaand-here-i-am)! Hope you enjoy :)
> 
> I'm writing Gaston and LeFou as being in the _Grenadiers de France_.

"You, there!"

The showman pointed at LeFou, a wide grin plastered on his face. "Yes, you! You've got that look in your eyes; I've seen it before. It's almost like a hunger - an  _urge_ to kill."

LeFou laughed and shook his head. "No, I think you've got the wrong man, sir. I don't want to kill anyone."

"They call it bloodlust," the officer said, "and it's insatiable. You've got it, and I've seen countless others with it, too."

LeFou chuckled again and tugged on Gaston's arm. "Come, this is a waste of time," he said, and Gaston followed reluctantly. "He's a loon."

"No, he's not," Gaston said as they rounded the corner of the schoolhouse. "What he said is true. War brings out the worst in men."

"He's a recruiting officer; he's only trying to get us to sign up."

Startling LeFou, Gaston reached down and grabbed his companion's wrist, pulling them to a halt. "Promise me," he said, his grip like a vice, "that you won't enlist. You are only seventeen -"

"We're nearly the same age!"

"- and I will not have you risk your life on my behalf. Promise me this."

"No. It's a good job, Gaston! Six  _sous_ a day - eight if one of us gets promoted."

 _"Please."_ His fingers laced with LeFou's, and after a moment, he realized he was trembling. "I don't... I'm afraid of what's going to happen. They say that you change when you're at the front. I don't know what's going to happen to you - to  _us_ -"

"We'll be fine," LeFou insisted. "And I'm not promising anything. If you enlist, so will I. And" - he kept talking, even when Gaston tried to interject - "if you think you'll be protecting me if I  _do_ come, you won't be.  _I_ protect  _you_ , and that's the way it is - so you can just stop trying to argue about it."

And there was the man he was proud to call his best friend: brutally honest and fiercely protective.

 

* * *

 

Gaston never had the chance to enlist - he got the letter summoning him to the front, as all eighteen year old men did, and that was that.

The next day, LeFou knocked on his door with a blue and white uniform in one hand and his enlistment document in the other.

 

* * *

 

"Ready?"

Gaston said nothing and focused on fastening the girth of his saddle around his horse's torso. For some reason, he kept fumbling with the strap; he was on edge, and he didn't know why.

"Magnifique lives up to his name," his friend said, reaching around him to help. He turned to look at him and sucked in a breath at the sight of LeFou bedecked in his uniform and hat. His hair was trailing down his back in tousled curls - it was getting ridiculously long and he kept saying he wanted to cut it, but Gaston liked it the way it was (and he  _especially_ liked it when he wore it down).

"You alright?" LeFou asked, his brow furrowed. "You look nervous. I hope it's not for my sake?"

Gaston chuckled bitterly and said, "No, it's for all our sakes."

"I know you're worried, Gaston, but I promise you, we'll be fine. We'll make it. I mean, you can do anything - you're a  _hero_!"

"And what are you?" he asked softly.

"I'm... well, I'm LeFou," came the reply.

They mounted their horses soon after that and rode to the edge of town with the others, stopping to say goodbye to the people of Villeneuve. A small crowd had gathered to bid them farewell while the others remained in the village, not wanting to waste their time with the over-eager, inexperienced men.

For some reason, they cheered when Gaston and LeFou approached the congregation, and Gaston couldn't help but grimace. Did they still see him as their savior, even though it'd been two years since he'd defended them from pirates?

Would he be a champion still when -  _if_ \- they came back?

"Are you going to say something?" LeFou asked him as they waved to the townspeople.

"What am I supposed to say?"

"'Thank you,' maybe?"

"For what?"

LeFou opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again.

 

* * *

 

"Look!" LeFou called as they crested the ridge, pointing down into the vale below.

Gaston, who had long since dismounted, guided Magnifique forward and sighed, relieved. He had begun to think that they would never reach the French camps, but now the sight of them instilled hope in him. The grenadiers milled around busily and weaved in between the carts of supplies lining the valley, reminiscent of ants pouring in and out of their hill. Hammers clanged against metal, pounding tent stakes into the ground and beating bent swords back into shape. Men laughed and talked good-naturedly, their voices warm, benevolent, and not yet affected by hardship.

It was a brilliant symphony of war, and Gaston's heart was a mere drum accompanying it.

LeFou looked back at him, grinned, and practically bounded down the hill, trembling with excitement. Gaston and the others followed him, leading their horses on foot.

As they approached the campsite, two men bedecked in the colors of command detached from the armament and came to greet them.

"Welcome!" one of them exclaimed, raising a hand in acknowledgement. His smile was kindly and his dark hair peppered with flecks of silver. Gaston distrusted him immediately. "Welcome, grenadiers! I am Captain Baudin, and this is my lieutenant, Giroux. We are glad you have come to serve with us."

"Very nice to meet you," LeFou enthused, stepping forward to shake their hands. Gaston followed his lead hesitantly, giving Giroux a slight nod - something about him seemed much more trustworthy.

Baudin looked at him and grinned an unnerving grin that made Gaston think,  _Snake._

 

* * *

 

"We are marching to our deaths," one of the older soldiers said, handing LeFou a stale piece of bread and a canteen as the campfires blazed around them. "I have been here for two months already and lost many friends. We cannot beat the British  _or_ the Germans; they are much too strong."

"But our allies -"

"We have none in the upcoming battle. The invasion will fail."

"The Hapsburgs will join us soon!" LeFou pressed. Gaston tugged on his arm before he dropped his bread in excitement. "When we march on the German states, we  _will_ succeed. Europe will be ours, I assure you."

The older man laughed and said, "How can you have such blind faith in a cause you've only just joined?"

"Obviously, you do not know LeFou," Gaston quipped. "He's quite relentless: he followed me all the way here just because I told him not to."

The soldier chuckled and walked away before he could hear LeFou mutter, "That's not the only reason," under his breath.

 

* * *

 

"Oh," he said as he entered the tent, blushing a bright red. "Sorry, am I...?"

LeFou turned around, a knife in hand, and grinned at him. "No, you're fine. Just cutting my hair."

"Why's your shirt off?" Gaston asked, trying not to look at the broad expanse of  _LeFou's skin, LeFou's chest, LeFou's freckled back..._

"Don't want to get any hair on it," his tentmate explained. "Here, could you help me with the back? I can't really reach."

"Sure." He moved forward, took the blade from LeFou, and gathered some of his hair in his hands, marvelling at how soft it felt. "Are you sure you want to cut it? I think it looks fine."

 _More than fine,_ he thought as LeFou chuckled and said, "It's a bit late now, isn't it? No, it's silly and impractical. I just want it out of the way."

The knife made a  _shrrk_ ing noise as Gaston lopped a lock of hair off and watched it float to the ground. A few drops of rain bounced against the walls of the tent as he kept going, shearing LeFou's dark curls away. " _My_ hair's long, isn't it?" he asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

"Oh, well - yes, but it isn't ridiculous. I love your hair, Gaston; it's so nice and smooth, and mine is so thick and hard to deal with."

Another ringlet fell, and Gaston couldn't help but smile as LeFou continued: "Er, that's not what I - well -"

"It's alright," he said, cutting the last tress away and catching it in his hand. "Thank you. That means a lot coming from someone as handsome as you."

LeFou turned around to face him and beamed, and Gaston slipped the lock of hair into his pocket for reasons he didn't understand.

 

* * *

 

"He died - he said we were going to die, and  _he was killed_ -"

"Hey. Calm down," Gaston said, wiping LeFou's tears away with his thumb and attempting to ignore the prickling in his own eyes. "There are always casualties in war. He was just one person."

"He was right," LeFou insisted, clinging to Gaston's coat like an upset child. "We lost."

"You don't know that for certain."

"We ruined this town," his friend said sharply. "We're not the winners here."

 

* * *

 

Gaston both loved and hated that first battle.

They had swept through a little German town like a tempest, wreaking havoc on the buildings and destroying everything in their path with the blind fury of a wild animal. Captain Baudin had said nothing of civilians, but any time LeFou and Gaston came across a cowering child or a terrified woman, they pretended not to notice them and moved on.

And LeFou - he had refused to leave Gaston's side, no matter how many times he said, "Stay here," or even, "Go that way, we can cut them off." He merely reloaded his musket, handed him a grenade, and remained with him, looking out for their opponents and occasionally shooting a few before Gaston even had time to react.

He would never admit it, but LeFou had always been the better marksman. As children, when they accompanied Gaston's father on hunting trips into the French countryside, LeFou somehow always brought home more game than Gaston or his father did combined. He never kept it for himself, though; he had always let Gaston's father - that bastard - take everything to the market to sell, and never accepted anything in return.

His father  _was_ a bastard; he had never fought in any wars, and when he wasn't drunk off his ass, he was never at home. The bar was one of his favorite haunts - besides the brothel, of course.

At the age of eight, Gaston had pledged never to become the man his father was: ruthless and reckless and cruel.

No,  _he_ would be brave - and fearless - and  _a hero_.

 

* * *

 

Before the next battle, Baudin amassed the troops and announced that they would be fighting in a much more organized fashion from then on. He and his lieutenant assigned the men under their command to two different groups that would ambush the next wave in the dead of night.

"And you," he said, finally pointing at LeFou (who automatically rose to his full height); "I would have you join the right flank, and the soldier next to you will join the left. I believe that's all of the men, isn't it, Giroux?"

"Yes, sir."

LeFou turned to Gaston once they were dismissed and gave him  _that look_.

"No - you  _can't_ disobey direct orders -"

"Watch me," LeFou said, his eyes blazing.

 

* * *

 

"The punishment for insubordination," Captain Baudin said, his voice loud enough for all to hear, "is public flogging. You know this, soldier, and yet you still disobeyed me."

"With all due respect, sir," LeFou said, "I only joined the left flank to remain with my friend. I will not leave his side."

"Your devotion is charming, but this cannot be forgiven. Fetch me a whip,  _fourrier_."

While they were waiting - and the captain gave some long-winded speech about the importance of discipline - LeFou's eyes scanned the congregation for his best friend. He couldn't seem to find him. Gaston hated the anonymity that their identical uniforms and tied-back hair forced upon them; the only person that could be easily distinguished amidst the crowd was Baudin, the shoulders of his jacket covered with the same blue fabric that tinged the lapels and hair ribbons of the grenadiers.

"Tie him to the stake, Giroux," the captain said when the supply officer returned.

His second-in-command winced. "Sir, he is only a boy -"

"Are you questioning my orders as well, lieutenant?" Baudin snarled. Giroux moved quickly to tie LeFou's hands in front of the post, forcing him to his knees behind it and baring his back to the captain.

The  _fourrier_ handed the whip to Baudin with hesitation, and he wrenched it from his hands, uncoiling it with the ferocity of a beast.

Even after thirty lashes, LeFou didn't scream. Gaston wanted to.

 

* * *

 

After his comeuppance, LeFou avoided Gaston like the plague. He couldn't seem to bear his face out of humiliation; he spent his days in the healer's quarters, opting to stay away from the front, and Gaston only saw him when he returned to their tent at night. He worked furiously into the late hours, barely eating or even bothering to visit his friend.

Gaston couldn't help but miss him.

"You should join us," he said one day, his rifle slung over his shoulder and mud caked to his face.

"You're filthy," LeFou said, picking up a cloth from a nearby table and wiping his brow clean.

"Yes, well, that's what happens when you've been lying on the ground for six hours."

"Is it over, then?" he asked, brushing off Gaston's coat in a futile attempt to rid it of the dirt stuck to it.

"No, Baudin and Giroux are at a parley right now," Gaston said. "It's likely we'll be returning to the trenches soon, knowing our captain."

"Hush, his spies are everywhere," LeFou joked - although there was a hint of nervousness in his tone, as if he was still afraid of Baudin.

" _We're_ his spies." He took a quick swig of water from LeFou's canteen, wiped his mouth, and left the medical tent.

 

* * *

 

"It was awful - you were screaming and crying, and he wouldn't stop hitting you."

"Wasn't real," LeFou said, framing Gaston's face with his hands. "It was just a dream, and I'm here, and I'm fine."

He leaned forward and hugged his friend, his fingers roaming over his back and passing over the ridges of his still-healing wounds...

 

* * *

 

In the midst of their twelfth battle, Gaston made sure no one was looking and shot Baudin in the back.

 

* * *

 

"Are you alright?" LeFou asked, flying out of the medical tent and pulling on Gaston's sleeves. "I heard that you were killed - everyone is injured and panicked, Baptiste and I are so overwhelmed -"

"The captain is dead."

LeFou blinked, stunned, and opened his mouth to say something else - but Gaston cut him off, leaning forward and kissing him before he had the chance to ask who had killed him.

He didn't kiss him back; he stood frozen and did nothing as Gaston closed his eyes and rested his forehead against his, hating the fact that he had chosen  _this_ moment to kiss his best friend.

"I'm sorry," he said when he pulled away. "It's just... I don't know if I'll ever be able to do that again, and..." He laughed and added, "I know how much you hated that man."

LeFou didn't say anything: he grabbed the collar of Gaston's coat, pulled him down, and kissed him like his life depended on it.

 

* * *

 

"And this is all yours!" LeFou exclaimed two years later as they admired the marquee. "It's almost like a house in here."

"It can be yours, too," Gaston told him, smiling tenderly.

"Giroux is still captain - he has power over you. You can't just  _demote_ him."

"He's a good man," he said, "but he is weak. He'll be gone soon enough, and then I'll be promoted again. And I'll have to choose my new right-hand man."

He cupped LeFou's cheek with his hand, and LeFou leaned into his touch. Gaston wanted to embrace him so terribly, but he had to wait until they were fully, completely alone. He could make it; he had waited nine years for their first kiss, and there was still some patience left in him.

 

* * *

 

"Bad dream?" LeFou asked in the middle of the night, rubbing Gaston's back as he dry-heaved into a bucket.

"Yes," he coughed, swallowing another wave of bile.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

LeFou pulled Gaston in for a hug and carded his fingers through his hair as he sobbed and tried not to think of that awful recurring dream where he shot Baudin in the back and rolled him over to find that it was really LeFou he had killed...

 

* * *

 

 _"Shit!"_ LeFou shouted, clutching his arm and dropping his musket.

"Are you hurt?" Gaston shrieked over the din. "Were you shot? What happened? LeFou?"

"Stop screaming!" he yelled back. "I'm fine, just... it's fine. Keep going, I'm right behind you -"

Gaston dove forward towards the man who had shot LeFou and tackled him, armed with nothing but a sword. The redcoat jabbed at him with a knife and managed to slash his forehead - the cut was shallow, but it still  _stung_ -

He punched the man in the face, and he hit back - and suddenly,  _he_ was on the ground, struggling to get up as the wind was knocked out of him - he wondered where his sword was as the man struck him again and again -

LeFou pulled the British soldier off of Gaston and ran him through in one fluid motion, his captain's sword in hand.

"Come on, we're leaving," he said, helping Gaston to his feet and pulling on his arm. "We're both wounded - tell the men to retreat, and we can go back to safety -"

"Wait," Gaston rasped, "no, go into the forest. We... we can bandage our wounds there..."

" _What?_ Are you  _insane_?"

"Are you questioning my orders, lieutenant?" he spat, immediately hating how much he sounded like Baudin.

"No, sir, sorry," LeFou muttered, half-carrying, half-dragging him away from the battlefield.

"Lefou - I'm -"

 _"Sorry, sir,"_ he said forcefully, and that was that.

 

* * *

 

The sun was rising and the fire they had built was crackling when LeFou finally broke the tentative silence between them.

"So," he said, "are we going to go back?"

"No," Gaston replied, toying with a birch twig in one hand and pressing the other into his side. "We're going to sit here and enjoy the quiet for as long as we possibly can."

"They'll be expecting us. Night has passed already; a captain and a lieutenant can't just disappear."

"Baudin and Giroux did," Gaston said quietly.

"That's different. Baudin died, and Giroux was taken captive after you became lieutenant," said LeFou.

Gaston kept his mouth shut. He had made a vow to himself, and he would keep it: he would never, ever tell.

Not even LeFou.

LeFou's hands - clasped round his knees - squeezed his legs together even tighter. "I saw what that sergeant was talking about," he said after a few moments. "Last night."

"What do you mean?"

"That recruiting officer who came to Villeneuve when the war first started. He said there was something in my eyes - bloodlust, he called it."

"And you saw it yesterday?" Gaston said, bewildered. "For the first time? After four years of fighting?"

"Yes."

"Where did you see it?"

His lieutenant looked down at the fire and bit his lip.

"LeFou?"

"I saw it in you," LeFou blurted, like it was some awful obscenity - a phrase that should never be used, and especially not against one's captain.

Gaston smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, gripped his friend's shoulder, and said,  _"Good."_

 

* * *

 

"Can't we just leave, LeFou?" he asked as they waved at the camp lookout from a few hundred yards away. "Get on a ship and never come back?"

"What, just turn around and walk away?" LeFou snorted. "When we're this close to camp? When all of them can see?"

"Yes," Gaston laughed, but he was only half joking.

"Captain, sir!" one of the grenadiers called as they approached, standing at attention and giving him a quick salute. "We thought you dead!"

"Not quite yet, Desjardins," he said, clapping him on the shoulder.

When he looked over his shoulder to say something to LeFou, he noticed that he wasn't there - rather, he was talking to a gaggle of healers a few paces away, taking their casualty reports and nodding fervently as they spoke.

For some reason, Gaston felt incredibly alone.

 

* * *

 

"Sometimes, you remind me so much of your father," LeFou said a year later, playing with Gaston's hair as the candlelight flickered against the marquee's walls.

"Mmm?" Gaston murmured, turning over on the cot and trying not to let LeFou see the dread coursing through his veins. "What do you mean?"

"Ambitious," the lieutenant said sleepily, giggling when Gaston pulled his hand to his mouth and kissed his fingers. "But you're different, too. You're... mmm, you - ah -"

He moved to LeFou's neck and kissed it softly, eventually moving to LeFou's lips and preventing him from continuing. Gaston didn't want to hear anything more about himself; he knew he was no great man.

 _None of us are great men,_ he thought as his lover rolled over on top of him and took the lead.  _Except for LeFou._

 

* * *

 

"I am lucky to have you," Gaston murmured the next morning as LeFou plaited his hair and tied it with his ribbon.

"Yes, you are," LeFou said a little distractedly, "but you don't exactly  _have_ me, you -"

"I mean that I'm lucky to have you by my side."

LeFou finished and rested his hand on Gaston's shoulder. "Yes, you are."

To Gaston, it was the little moments like these that mattered - especially when they might die at any day.

"Any dreams?" LeFou asked a little while later (as he normally did), pulling his jacket on and adjusting his own queue.

"No," he lied, brushing off the epaulets on his own overcoat. "Not for days."

He knew that LeFou could see right through him, but he loved him for saying nothing of it.

**Author's Note:**

> I commissioned the lovely, beautiful, gorgeous illustration from the amazing [@french-unicorn](http://french-unicorn.tumblr.com)! Support them on [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/FrenchUnicorn)!!
> 
> Obviously, I didn't use any actual historical figures in this fic. For the most part, I tried to make this as historically accurate as possible; I made some exceptions, of course, because the eighteenth century is notoriously difficult to research (ugh).
> 
> Check out some of my other wartime ficlets - [Leather](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24666693), [Tears](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24666900), [Sand](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24666792), [Blue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24667101), [Blanket](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24666876), [Arrow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24667137), and [Ending](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24667221). A few of those touch on the naval aspect of the war, although I decided not to include that in this fic.
> 
> A few fun tidbits: Luke Evans' horse for both _The Hobbit_ and _Beauty and the Beast_ was actually named Magnifique; the part about Gaston defending Villeneuve from pirates [is canon](http://ew.com/movies/2017/03/14/beauty-and-the-beast-luke-evans-gaston-backstory/); and the quote _"[none] of us are great men"_ is from the musical "Natasha, Pierre  & the Great Comet of 1812."
> 
> Regarding the soldiers' pay: they were each paid "six or eight _sous_ a day," which is equal to about a third of a _livre_ (one pound sterling). In today's money, six _sous_ is about $64.97/£50.44; eight _sous_ is equal to $86.63/£67.25.
> 
> I did quite a bit of research for this fic - here are my sources!  
> 
> 
>   * [Origins of rank names in the French military](http://www.onesixthwarriors.com/forum/attention-to-detail-1-1-talk-/76612-origins-rank-names-french-military.html)
>   * [Ranks in the French Army](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ranks_in_the_French_Army)
>   * [The French Army](http://www.napolun.com/mirror/web2.airmail.net/napoleon/FRENCH_ARMY.htm)
>   * [The French Army 1600-1900](http://www.napolun.com/mirror/napoleonistyka.atspace.com/FRENCH_ARMY.htm#french1700)
>   * [List of battles involving France in the Ancien Régime](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_battles_involving_France_in_the_Ancien_R%C3%A9gime)
>   * [French livre](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_livre)
>   * [Pounds Sterling to Dollars: Historical Conversion of Currency](https://www.uwyo.edu/numimage/currency.htm)
>   * [Grenadiers de France](http://www.kronoskaf.com/syw/index.php?title=Grenadiers_de_France)
> 



End file.
